


Groucho Loses His Voice and Stuff Happens I Guess

by chinchillasinunison



Category: Classic Comedy
Genre: Gen, I'm Bad At Titles, loss of voice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 18:32:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16918101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinchillasinunison/pseuds/chinchillasinunison
Summary: Exactly What It Says On The Tin(as you could probably guess from the terribleness of that title, this is one of my older fics. Originally posted on Tumblr on October 30th, 2016.)





	Groucho Loses His Voice and Stuff Happens I Guess

Zeppo awoke to a furious barrage of coughing coming from the kitchen. He scrambled out of bed and made a mad dash to the source, and found Groucho hunched over the kitchen counter, nearly hacking up a lung. Zeppo touched his brother on the shoulder and Groucho turned his head back to face him, his eyes watery and irritated.

“Groucho, are you alright? What’s wrong? You’re not sick, are you? Do you need my help?” The words spilled out of his mouth like a panic-induced waterfall.

Groucho responded with low, guttural sounds that Zeppo couldn’t comprehend.

Zeppo leaned up closer, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Groucho, his painted-over eyebrows furrowed, (which confused Zeppo, as that would mean he would have put it on while he was having this dramatic coughing fit, as though it were the most important thing for him to do at the moment) again tried to speak. Though it was slightly louder and clearer (as in you actually understand that the things he was saying were words), Zeppo still couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“You’re going to have to speak up. I can’t hear you.”

Groucho gritted his teeth and practically screamed, “I’VE GOT LARYNGITIS YOU NUMBSKULL--” The pitch in his voice died out at the last syllable. He attempted to speak again, but he could only wheeze. He looked up at his brother, now practically steaming.

“Oh… you’ve… um… lost your voice, haven’t you?”

Groucho said nothing, just scowled.

“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes,’” Zeppo looked around awkwardly as his brother glared daggers, “I’ll go… buy some stuff for your throat…” Zeppo hurried to the garage door, but was stopped short by Harpo appearing out of nowhere. Zeppo screamed at an oddly high pitch and Harpo mimed laughter.

“Oh, that’s real nice. Thank you for that,” he snarked. He shoved Harpo out of the way and started opening the door, but then noticed him hovering by, eyeing him curiously.

“Oh! You’re probably wondering where I’m going, right?” Zeppo said in realization.

Harpo nodded yes.

“Well, if you must know, Groucho’s lost his voice, in a way that totally wasn’t partially my fault, if I may add, and I’m going to go out and get him some things to-- What are you doing?”

After Zeppo said “voice”, Harpo’s eyes widened. He took off his ragged top hat and turned it inside-out, somehow transforming it into a deerstalker cap, and placed it back on his head. By the time Zeppo asked what he was doing, he had pulled a magnifying glass out of his pocket and started scanning the ground.

It took Zeppo about a second to then say, “Oh, okay. I get the joke now. Are you done?”

Harpo paid him no attention and continued searching.

Zeppo rolled his eyes. “Okay. Whatever. You just keep… doing what you’re doing… I guess…” And with that, he left.

Groucho saw Harpo as he looked high and low, and didn’t even bother trying to communicate his question of what he was looking for to him, for two reasons: Firstly, that he had no idea how to communicate non-verbally, and secondly, that whatever Harpo was doing was likely too stupid to even bother caring about. So he opted to just continue brewing his tea, in the hopes that it would help end this whole ordeal quicker. He had only lost his voice for a minute, maybe two (if you wanted to be generous), and yet he already had grown to hate it. Being unable to talk only left him to think, and think he did. Like about how his comedic voice was the thing that defined him from his brothers, and from many people in general. If he couldn’t express that comedic voice, in the verbal fashion that he was known for, what was he then? Was he nothing? Was his voice the only thing that mattered?

Thankfully, before he could delve any deeper into his existential crisis, the teapot whistled. He poured some into a mug and sat down on the sofa. After a few sips, he glanced around the living room. Well, he got the tea, now what was he supposed to do? Just sit there until Zeppo came back? How was he going to pass the time until then? He briefly peered up from his tea at the TV, only to cringe at even letting the thought slip into his mind. He was just about to get up to look for a book from his personal library when Chico walked by, still wearing his robe.

“Ey, Boss! What’s up?” he greeted Groucho cheerily.

Groucho lied back on the sofa and went on sipping his tea.

“Why you no speak to me? What’d I do?”

Groucho glanced up for a second and held eye contact, then looked down again. Maybe if he tried not to engage with him he’d go away.

Chico eyed his brother suspiciously, then he said, “Hey Harp, is that you under there? Is this some kinda gag?”

Groucho shook his head.

Chico giggled a little. “Come on now, you no fool me! Now take that stuff off.” He reached over and tried to pull off what he thought was a wig. Groucho, while struggling to get Chico off of him, dropped his hot tea all over himself, and let out an incredibly pained wheeze. That took Chico aback. Harpo would likely never make a noise like that.

“Ey, Boss! It really is you!”

Groucho stared at him in sheer awe of his stupidity.

“So you gotta no voice then? So now you no speak?”

Groucho nodded sullenly.

“So atta means…” Chico gave a mischievous grin, “you can’t tell me what to do…”

Groucho’s eyes widened in fear as Chico ran to his room. He quickly followed, but had to pause as he went into another coughing fit. As he came into his room he found Chico with one of his cigars in his mouth.

Chico looked up at his flustered brother and took a drag from the cigar. He got up close and let out a puff right in his face. Groucho couldn’t really do anything but stand there, watching as Chico smoked away, his face flushed red.

“You know, I might-a stop now, if you told me to…” his grin grew wider.

Groucho couldn’t take it anymore and lunged at him. Chico dodged him and made a break for it. Groucho tackled him in the living room and the two tussled on the floor for a while until Zeppo came home and found them.

“I leave you guys for half an hour and this is what I come back to… Groucho and Chico are fighting and Harpo’s doing God only knows what...” Zeppo grumbled. “Alright, alright, you two, break it up…” he said as he pulled them away from each other. The two now sat across from each other on the floor, Groucho with his arms crossed and Chico doing an angry pout.

“Now, I’m not gonna ask about what happened because I know I can only get one side of the story anyway…” Zeppo began.

“Aw, he-a just no want me to have any fun…” Chico stated, ignoring what Zeppo said and side-eyeing his brother. Groucho reached over and smacked him in the face. The two were almost at it again when Zeppo got between them again.

“Alright, both of you stop it right now, or else I’ll knock the living daylights out of both of you!”

Groucho and Chico, certainly not willing to try to reason with Zeppo’s fists, promptly stopped.

“Good. Now Groucho, I got you some medicine that should help you throat. Hopefully you won’t be stuck like this for too much longer…”

Just then, all three of them noticed Harpo’s presence in the room. Zeppo turned to face him. He stood there shyly, the deerstalker cap held over his mouth. He seemed paler than usual.

“Hey Harp, what’s the matter? You don’t look so good,” Chico said, concerned.

“Did you find Groucho’s voice?” Zeppo asked, playing along with the joke from earlier that day.

Harpo lowered the hat from over his face and looked around nervously. He opened his mouth, and out came, with Groucho’s tone and inflection, “The good news is that I did, but the bad news is that I don’t know how to give it back!”


End file.
